Waiting
by Reva Arian
Summary: A series of one-shots in which Fiona is made to wait.  Starting in Dublin and ending in Miami, minor spoilers eventually for "Eyes Open".
1. Chapter 1

*It's been a few years since I've actually posted anything, so bear with me…*

After glancing at her watch for the millionth time, Fiona Glenanne ordered her fourth cup of tea and impatiently drummed her fingers against the white table cloth. She'd been waiting for her brother to arrive so that they could go over their plans for tomorrow night's heist, but so far he was 45 minutes late. If there was one thing that Fiona couldn't stand, it was waiting. Her heart leapt at the sound of the door to the cafe banging open, her eyes shooting to the entrance hopefully as a man walked in. That man was not her brother, Sean.

Hopes dashed and becoming even more impatient, Fiona huffed and slumped back in her chair, watching discreetly as the new arrival took a seat at a table near her making it so that if she glanced sideways she had a full view of his face. He certainly was handsome, his hair so brown it was almost black covered by a messenger boy hat and grey-blue eyes that stood out against the dark green knit scarf around his neck. He looked like the kind of man that Ma would like her to bring home, and not like the usual men with whom she kept her company. He looked... trustworthy, if such a feat were possible in any human.

Another look at her watch told her that 10 minutes had passed, eliciting a groan and a roll of her eyes.

"Are you waiting for someone?" A dulcet voice drifted from the direction of the stranger. Fiona smiled demurely as she turned to face him.

"Not anymore." She smirked, pulling the chair adjacent to her out in invitation.

"Michael McBride." The stranger offered, sinking gracefully into the chair. Fiona caught herself staring at the way his entire demeanor seemed to radiate light as he smiled at her. Upon closer inspection a few scars scattered near his eye and the day old bruise on his brow mostly hidden by his cap told her that he was perhaps more rough and tumble than she first took him for. She felt a spark of arousal and intrigue run through her.

"Fiona Glenanne. It's a pleasure to meet you, Michael."


	2. Chapter 2

Fiona had thought for sure that she would have lured Michael McBride into her bed by now. It had been nearly two weeks since their chance meeting in the Dublin cafe, and she had come to the conclusion that McBride was either ignoring her advances or was incredibly dense. Judging by the way he could quickly think on his feet, his tactical awareness, and the efficient manner in which he was currently assembling the trigger switch for their next job, she guessed it was the former.

Heaving a bored sigh, Fiona leaned over as if to watch him work, making sure that her long hair brushed against his bare arm. Michael threw a side glance in her direction, and she flipped her bangs out of her eyes, licking her lips in a long, exaggerated fashion. When she looked up at him she saw that his eyes were fixed on her mouth. Finally, she had his attention.

She waited for him to lean down, for his warm breath to fall across her face and for the scent of his cologne and shampoo to overwhelm her. She waited for his lips to brush hers, softly at first before his tongue would dart out and seek entrance to her mouth, which she would allow after reaching up to cup his stubbled jaw. She waited for the so-called sparks to fly.

She waited and waited and... nothing happened. Michael returned to his task, his jaw seemingly clenched a little tighter. Ever the impatient one, Fiona was sick of waiting. She grabbed Michael by the chin and forced him to turn his head toward her as she leaned in to stifle his gasp of surprise. Any thoughts of tenderness left her immediately as her mouth covered his, her tongue instantly wedging itself between his lips. Any reservations Michael may have had never had the opportunity to come to light, what with Fiona crawling onto his lap and frantically working to unbutton his shirt and pants.

Later, when they were lying sated in her bed, a tangle of sweaty and glowing limbs as his fingers carded through her hair, Fiona thought that maybe, just maybe, she had found the one she had been waiting for.


	3. Chapter 3

Every tick of her watch made Fiona want to pull her hair from her head. Or put a block of C4 to good use, whichever came first.

This was not something she was prepared to face. Michael was on his way over to her hotel and would arrive at any minute. Michael, who was not really Michael McBride as she had known him a year ago, but Michael Westen, American spy extraordinaire. Finding out that the man who she found herself falling more and more in love with every minute was in fact not Irish and that he had been lying the entire time in order to infiltrate and collect information about the IRA had left her feeling betrayed and used. But one look into his damned expressive eyes and Fiona knew that it was all for real. He may not have said it out loud, but it was a given that not every moment spent with her, especially the more tender and intimate moments, were in dishonesty. For some reason she felt in her heart that he was loyal to her.

That was what made meeting up in Berlin so much easier. For the past month and a half they had created a lot of mayhem and having an intimate history together made boring stakeouts more eventful and warm nights even warmer. As much as she loved spending time with Michael, though, Fiona could tell where his head really was. He was a patriot, that much was certain, and lived for his job, believing that his work would help to protect the American people. She didn't foresee him wanting to be tied to anyone any time soon, and she certainly knew that he never gave any thought to a family. As for herself, she of course had those thoughts but knew that with her lifestyle there was no way she could stay in one place, and no way she could in good conscience start a family while continuing in her line of work.

Her nails were creating half-moon indentations on her palms as the last minute ticked by even slower than the former. She would pace back and forth if she had the space to do so, but at the moment she was confined to the cramped closet of a bathroom. The sound of her front door opening and closing barely registered to her, until she heard footsteps stop outside of the bathroom.

"Fi?" It was Michael.

"Almost ready." She called, the last 10 seconds left on her watch seeming to come in slow motion.

When the second hand finally crossed the 12, her eyes shot to the little white stick on the counter which had become the bane of her existence since she picked it up from the drug store. Tears instantly hit her eyes, and she had to take a moment to compose herself. She spent all of five more seconds sitting on the closed lid of the toilet with her hands over her face, breathing in deeply as relief flooded her and her adrenaline ebbed. Fiona stood and looked at herself in the mirror, wiping away all evidence of distress from her cheeks and schooling her features. The white stick went back into its box and the box was shoved into the bottom of the wastebasket.

When she swung open the door, Michael was waiting on the other side.

"You all right, Fi?" He asked, thinking that he'd caught a haunted look cast a shadow across her face before she smiled widely as if nothing was wrong.

"Oh, just that I can't find the butterfly knife Liam gave me before I came. I must have left it back home in Dublin."

Michael opened the front door and allowed Fiona to walk past him, following her with his eyes and wondering what had gotten her so upset.


	4. Chapter 4

***Sorry about taking so long to update. Apparently my muse took a vacation. Thank you for being patient. This one is a little short, but it's really just to move things along so that it doesn't seem so drawn out.**

If Fiona had known that a phone call would never come, she wouldn't have spent all that time waiting. She tried to be patient, tried to tell herself that there was a reason he left in such a hurry with no word of where he was going or why. But eventually she stopped kidding herself. That skip in her heart that came whenever the telephone rang needed to be stopped, and after a few months of hoping, she finally became fed up. Without even an idea of where she might go, she opened her suitcase and began throwing objects into it. When she came across the t-shirt that he had left behind, the one that she wore to bed night after night just to feel like he was still there with her, she marched over to the garbage can and raised it high above her head. She stopped herself before she could throw it in the bin, though, clutching instead to her chest and trying to tell herself that she wasn't packing it along with her things because it reminded her of him, but because it was her most comfortable night shirt and she couldn't part with it. It would be a shame to throw away, she told herself.

She made the arrangements and had a plane ticket to New York the next morning, deciding she needed a fresh start. But now, sitting at the terminal she began to feel an odd feeling within, knowing that she would soon be in America which was the country Michael was from. The rational part of her mind told her that Michael was probably not there, was probably in some war-driven country on some classified mission, but still she felt she would be closer to him. She started having second thoughts, but reminded herself that this was her moving on and that just because he was an American it didn't mean that she couldn't go to America and it didn't mean that she had to immediately associate that with him. From now on her thoughts would not include that damnable Michael Westen. At least, not if she could help it.


	5. Chapter 5

***Finally! Haha, I'm still alive, I am just only able to write when my muse is awake, which isn't often. It's unfortunate, but the stuff that I write in between that time is not worthy of publishing, more like scribbles to pass the time and exercise my skills. Thanks for being so patient, and I will hopefully have the next chapter to _And the Walls Came Tumbling Down _finished and up within the next few days. Even if it kills me, lol.**

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As winter came round again in New York, an unsurprising cold front took claim over the city that forced its inhabitants to bundle up with coats and gloves as they continued unfazed with their usual hustle and bustle during the holiday season. The cold and snow reminded Fiona too much of frigid days spent with a certain someone rushing between the pub and her apartment to escape the icy winds and long nights with him by the fire trying to stay warm. She smiled fondly at the memories for a brief moment before remembering that she was supposed to have moved on by now; she had a new life.

She tucked her cashmere scarf closer to her chin and brought the collar of her wool coat up closer to her ears to block the draft. Rolling her eyes impatiently, she checked her watch for the tenth time in five minutes. It was at least ten past 7:00 and she was pretty sure that she was standing in front of the correct theater. Marco had bought tickets to see _The Nutcracker _after going on and on about how she had the lithe and sinewy body of a dancer and she just _had _to see it until she had finally agreed to go with him. She chose to ignore his unrefined comment of wanting to test out just how flexible she was, focusing instead on the fact that he had a handsome face and an uncle who worked the docks with a knack for "forgetting" to document certain illegal weapon shipments.

The sidewalk was mostly clear of people now, those attending the show having already gone in and found their seats some 30 minutes ago, but a few passersby remained. Fiona fervently hoped that one of those passersby would be Marco because, though she wore boots, her toes were beginning to ache from the cold that soaked through her boots and her cheeks, and the tip of her nose was probably bright pink. She thought about going inside to wait, but decided that she would give Marco another five minutes before calling it a night, resigning herself to the fact that she would just have to think of another way to get into his uncle's good graces.

Fiona could never be sure what it was that made her look behind herself at the moment that she did. An inkling feeling came over her causing the hair on her neck to stand on end as if she were preparing for an attack. Turning her head quickly, she thought she saw a flash of a black pea coat and a gray cap over dark hair round the corner into the alley.

It couldn't be.

Having given up on Marco showing anyway, Fiona darted around the corner of the building as quickly as she could without looking too conspicuous and was met with an empty alleyway. She sighed, chastising herself for getting her hopes up, but mostly for even thinking about him. She had made it a point to free her mind of all things Michael and hadn't thought about him at all these past few years. It was liberating in a way, and she felt like she was nearly back to her old self again.

Fiona had just returned to the front of the theater when her phone rang. She answered it, preparing to chew Marco out for either being late or standing her up.

"Marco, you're mother had better be dying…"

"Miss Glenanne?" A woman with a heavy Hispanic accent timidly asked.

"Yes, this is she. Who is this?" Fiona tried to think back to when she might have run in to or given her number to any Hispanic woman in her past.

"My name is Rosa, I work at the Sunrise Motel in Miami, Florida. There is a man here, Mr. Westen…"

"I have no interest in speaking with him." Fiona interrupted quickly, her heart feeling as if it had frozen in her chest. She knew this would happen, knew that the instant she started thinking about Michael again, he would come careening back into her life. She had been doing just fine with moving on, she didn't need him swooping in and messing everything up.

Rosa went on to explain that Michael was unwell, that some strange men had brought him to the motel a couple of days ago in pretty rough shape. He'd been unconscious when they'd brought him in and hadn't woken at all in his time there. She felt that he may be in need of medical help, but did not want to call in fear that the strange men would return, so she went through his wallet to see if he had any family she could call for him.

Fiona felt her heart catch in her throat as Rosa described Michael's condition to her, as it hadn't sounded promising. The fact alone that he'd been unconscious for at least two days had her flagging down a cab and pointing the driver in the direction of her loft. She would go to Miami to be with Michael, if not to help him, then to at least have the chance to give him a piece of her mind.


	6. Chapter 6

Fiona sighed heavily as she twirled Michael's ID in her hand, still bored even after going through his wallet and the pockets of his suit jacket and pants. The fact that he didn't so much as budge while she patted him down was a good indication of how bad off he was. According to the maid, Michael had been unconscious for three days now. Fiona knew that he would've had to have been beaten within an inch of his life to be out for that long. The dark bruises that covered most of his ribs were a testament to the pounding he had taken. She wondered idly who he must have pissed off in order for that to happen.

He looked different, she thought, yet the same. His hair was a little shorter, the lines on his face a little harsher. She counted a number of new scars on his arms and chest, most notably the round scar indicating a bullet to his left flank and pink lines still fading into white on his shoulder blade which looked to have borne the brunt of a shrapnel hit.

He twitched harshly as if wanting to force himself to awaken from some hellish nightmare before becoming still again and settling into a somewhat easy slumber. She longed to go to him, to sit closer to his bedside and touch the fresh bruises along his face with her fingertips. But then she remembered that she was no longer that type of woman. She remembered the anger and the hurt he had caused her. How pathetic would it look if after all that, all these years, she just suddenly rushed to him, dropping everything she was doing and running to him when he was just recovering from an op gone bad? How big of a head would that give the spy?

Because the fact was she _did _drop everything she was doing the second she'd received that phone call. To her credit, it sounded like he might be dying. It sounded like a good enough reason for her to run back to him after everything he'd put her through. So, she would play annoyed and indifferent as if it were no big deal to her. She'd been meaning to move on from New York anyway, she'd put down too many roots. Too many people knew her name and her business, and it wouldn't do for her to stick a neon sign over her head should someone start sniffing around by sitting in one place for too long.

Fiona's heart clenched when Michael twitched again, taking in a few quick, shallow breaths before he settled back down. She pushed her worry away, stifling her feelings in order to spare her pride. She sighed again, still nonchalantly twirling his ID card, still bored to death in the stuffy motel room. If she was going to get answers she would have to wait for Michael to wake up.

Fiona bit her lip before slowly cocking her leg back and kicking her former lover in the ass. She was never any good at the whole "waiting" thing anyway.

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***Hey guys, not my best work but more of a filler to keep interest. Sorry for the long wait!**


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